FMA Drabbles
by Artemis Rae
Summary: A variety of drabbles written for different comms and challenges. See individual chapters for characters, ratings, and genre, but skews towards gen fic and het pairings.
1. Tripped Ego

**Title**: Tripped Ego  
**Rating**: K  
**Character/Pairing**: Roy, Riza, Riza's father.  
**Summary**: Roy's journey to super-powered flamey alchemist encounters a bump in the road.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: God - 1. You - 0. Manga-verse. Spoilers for Roy's backstory.

* * *

Breakfast the morning after was a tense affair.

Riza, as usual, kept her eyes down, focusing on her plate as she ate as quickly as was polite before she could escape the room. She spent most mornings attempting to avoid eye contact with her father's student, though today in particular was slightly different.

She could have set an extra plate for his bruised ego.

Her face remained blank, though her mind wrestled between being intensely amused at the situation and slightly disappointed on his behalf. Roy had been progressing so quickly her father had thought it might be worthwhile to take Roy's training to a new level. Roy had boasted confidently through lunch the previous day before disaster had fallen that afternoon. ("And I have a date tonight!" she'd overheard him grumbling as he had sifted through the remains of the desk he'd blown up.)

Just as Riza was scraping the remains of her breakfast into the disposal, her father strode into the room, all business as usual.

"Come, Roy," he commanded. "We have a lot to cover after losing all that time cleaning up yesterday."

"Yes, Sensei," Roy grumbled, his cheeks instantly flushing. His hair was a mess, as if he'd been running his hands through the front of it all morning.

Her father left the kitchen, and Riza noticed the tortured look on the young alchemist's face.

"Look," she said quietly, sure that he didn't want her trying to comfort him but feeling a need to try anyway, "if it makes you feel better, he used to blow off his own eyebrows all the time."

Roy's frown deepened, and with a scrape of the chair he was up and out of the room, head ducked in a futile attempt to draw attention away from the missing brows.

* * *

Originally posted 07/13/07


	2. Set in Stone

**Title**: Set in Stone  
**Rating**: K  
**Character/Pairing**: Winry-centric (implied Ed/Winry)  
**Summary**: She never bothered to sign Ed's automail.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: Carve your name unto my arm. Spoilers for Briggs.

* * *

She was glad she'd had the foresight to start researching Northern automail after she'd spoken to the hotel clerk. Ed was impulsive, and for all the research he did it never occurred to him to look up little things that might be incredibly useful to him – like the affects of sub-zero temperatures on his automail. Winry had been less than surprised when the Fuhrer's secretary had called and requested her presence up at Briggs to refit Ed's arm and leg.

Now it was well after midnight, and she was set to catch a 5 a.m. train. She was as packed as she was going to get - all she had to do was screw on the plating and she could pack Ed's new arm and console herself that at least she'd be able to catch sleep on the train.

She was moving on automatic, and it wasn't until she heard the scratching of metal on metal that she looked down at the chisel in her hand and realized what she'd done.

An automail mechanic's signature was important – having something distinctive and easily recognizable made it clear to other mechanics exactly who they were messing with if they attempted maintenance on a piece they hadn't created. It was useful in cases of flighty customers who were constantly looking for better deals, and for those mechanics who used unique alloys or gears in their work.

Winry's mark was easy enough to read – just her initials, an interconnected "W" and "R". Each of her customers had seen it – except for Ed. She never bothered to sign Ed's automail, because the only reason he would go to another mechanic would be if he were deathly injured or in desperate need (or if she were _unavailable_, her mind pointed out anxiously, remembering the brother's phone call to "check up" on her. Since when had Ed started worrying about _her_?).

Blinking down at it, she was surprisingly unsure whether or not to get a new plate and simply redo the casing. Then she huffed impatiently, stood up and practically tossed the arm as violently as she dared (which really wasn't very violently at all, but Winry _did_ feel better) into the case and snapped it shut decisively.

She'd leave her mark on his arm, and it would do the impulsive jerk right to have a reminder that he didn't have to take everything on himself and that there were people behind him who wanted to support him.

* * *

Originally posted 07/17/07


	3. Heralding Thoughts

**Title**: Heralding Thoughts  
**Rating**: K+  
**Character/Pairing**: Winry-centric (implied Ed/Winry)  
**Summary**: Spring inevitably brings back thoughts of Ed.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: Oh yes, with a gust of wind/Will come the one you seek

* * *

Fall was by far the most pleasant time to be living in Rush Valley. Winter was full of non-stop slushy, grey snow and a rush of work due to cold weather-damaged automail. Spring brought chilly, endless rain, and the melting snow turned Rush Valley dark brown with knee deep mud slicks – she'd lost her shoes more than once in the muck, and it wasn't uncommon for her to spend hours using a high-speed air pump to loosen the mud that had wormed its way into her customer's joints. When summer finally rolled around it brought blue, cloudless days that baked the whole town in a dry heat that wasn't even relieved on the few occasions it bothered to rain. It was the time of year when customer satisfaction was generally lowest, owing not to the quality of the automail itself but the grouchiness that tends to crop up when one is lugging around a boiling piece of metal attached to the body.

But fall could be pleasant. It wasn't much cooler than summer, but enough to bring a little relief at night, and usually a blistering wind was whipping its way through town, so most people could throw open the windows and get a little respite from the afternoon heat before it melted away into the evening.

Today's wind, however, has a sweet taste of precipitation on the end of it. The skies are quickly going dark, and Winry can tell that soon they'll be treated to one of Rush Valley's infamous lightening storms, like the one that rocked the valley the night she delivered Satera's son.

Remembering that night, however, inevitably brings to mind Edward and the fact that she hasn't seen him since the spring, when he informed her that he and Al were heading back east again. It had rained the morning he left as well, and she had berated him until he finally gave in and sent Al out to purchase a pair knee-high rubber galoshes so that he didn't end up right back on her workbench with mud up into his port.

She wonders where he is now, and if he and Al are both okay and what state Ed's automail is in at the moment. She does not wonder if they're thinking about her, because thoughts of her only distract the pair from their journey, and a distraction, even if it's only a momentary thought, can cost either one of the brothers their life.

It's funny, because she thinks about Edward and Alphonse every day with absolutely no consequence, but today her thoughts act as a herald and with the next gust of wind the door to the shop bangs open, and there is Al waving hesitantly at her, and leaning sheepishly against him is a red-faced Edward, eyebrows crossed and already ready for a fight over his clearly destroyed automail leg.

And maybe it's the weather, or maybe it's her shock at his sudden appearance just as she was thinking about him, or maybe it's the fact that her heart bursts every time his gold eyes flash at her, but instead of flying into her usual rage she beams at him and rushes to help him to her workbench to see what damage he's done to his leg.

(And patiently waits until he's settled to clock him in the head with her wrench.)

* * *

Originally posted 08/05/07


	4. From Mine Own Library

**Title**: From Mine Own Library  
**Rating**: K  
**Character/Pairing**: Sheska  
**Summary**: An entire shelf of books remains untouched.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: The words you've borrowed. Manga-verse.

* * *

There's an entire shelf of books in Sheska's apartment that remains untouched. They sit on a wooden shelf in her bedroom, gathering dust as their spines stay uncracked. They're gifts – she hasn't bought a single one for herself, but others have always seen fit to buy one for her.

"I don't know what you've read," they always say, shrugging with embarrassment as she pretends to be happy with the gift. "So I figured a blank book would be best."

At first thought it seems like a good idea – Sheska reads voraciously, anything and everything she can get her hands on, and it all stays soaked up in her brain, just waiting to be released. It seems natural, then, that as she fills her brain that she would fill journals and diaries. All those words in her head have to go _somewhere_, don't they? They can't just sit there, can they?

Except they do.

Sheska has tried a million times in a million ways. She's bought expensive pens or sat down and tried to write at different times of day – _Maybe if I do it right before bed, when I'm trying to relax. Maybe if I do it first thing in the morning, when my mind is fresh_ – but it's never worked. On the occasion she starts to write, her mind starts to wander over the books and texts she's read, and when she pauses to look back at what she's written she finds that it's always some random passage from a book, mishmashes of instructions and imaginative language and, in extreme cases, bits of dialog that she's picked up.

So the shelf of journals – beautiful books, with ribbons and heavy cream pages and colorful bindings – sits in Sheska's room, waiting for the day when Sheska can finally fill them with her own words instead of words she's borrowed from others.

* * *

Originally posted 09/01/07


	5. Reserve Thy Judgement

**Title**: Reserve Thy Judgment  
**Rating**: K  
**Character/Pairing**: Greed!Ling, Ran Fan (implied Ling/Ran Fan? It doesn't have to be interpreted as shippy even remotely.)  
**Summary**: An entire shelf of books remains untouched.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: You look a little bit older, a little bit colder. Manga-verse. Spoilers from chapter 47 on.

* * *

She'd known something was wrong since the moment the Elric's brought her that stained rag, and she'd been briefed on what had happened to the prince and how he'd changed, but it turns out that neither one had prepared her for what it would be like to actually face him again.

In the heat of battle she sensed one of them behind her – how could she miss them, the agony that permeated the air around them made her wonder how those creatures could _live_, let alone _fight_ – and when Ran Fan spun around she was greeted with Ling's smiling face.

She dropped her guard – it was instinct, she'd spent her whole life training to protect him, and no amount of _he's one of them now, Ran Fan, he's the enemy_ could override that – but he dropped his guard as well, and for a half-moment the pair just stared at each other.

Ling _looked_ different – it wasn't just his chi and the way she could sense him, and it wasn't just in his head, it was in his face and in his shoulders and in his eyes and the way he held himself. She'd been warned that he was different, but she hadn't been warned that she would both see him and not see _him_.

The half-moment passed, and he brought his broadsword over his head to attack. Without thought, she threw an arm up to protect herself – and with a loud clang the sword hit her automail arm and skittered, doing no damage to her self.

The homunculus who'd been young master looked at her.

"You've changed."

* * *

Originally posted 09/07/07


	6. The Bottom Line

**Title**: The Bottom Line  
**Rating**: K+  
**Character/Pairing**: Izumi/Sig  
**Summary**: This is how Sig realizes he's in love with Izumi.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: If you find yourself caught in love. Set pre-series, very early in their relationship. Just a weeny piece of fluff, because I DO love them so.

* * *

This is how Sig realizes he's in love with Izumi:

He was working in the back of the shop right before close, chopping meat and carefully hanging it in the low-lit freezer. She was behind the counter, carefully combing through the day's receipts and the change drawer – he had objected, when she first insisted on working in the shop with him, because it didn't seem right that she should want to work when she didn't have to, but all the same, she was there, and he was glad for her presence; the day went by that much quicker and was that much more enjoyable because of her.

The jangling of the bell over the door reached his ears, and then things happened quickly. There were raised voices, and a loud crash, and the sound of someone crying. Sig bolted to the front room, and found two figures: one hunched over, cowering, and the other standing tall, a steel knife glinting threateningly in the dim light of the shop. Things clicked in Sig's brain – _Izumi, robber, knife, threat_ – and the next thing he knew the front shop of the window was shattered and the would-be robber was laying dazed on the front sidewalk.

It wasn't until Sig actually paused to take a breath that he realized that the sobbing he'd heard had been coming from the robber.

"Sweetie!" Izumi kind of looked like she wanted to bawl herself, and nearly swooned as she clasped her hands up to her face. "You came to defend my honor!"

Sig rubbed his head and looked at her, and decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman.

When the police arrived ten minutes later, having been called to the scene by the neighbors, they found one incoherent robber, curled up in terror outside of the shop, and a young couple inside the shop, kissing passionately.

* * *

Originally posted 9/23/2007


	7. Maybe This Time

**Title**: Maybe This Time  
**Rating**: K  
**Character/Pairing**: Ling, Ran Fan  
**Summary**: Ling can fight for himself  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: do you know what it means to miss you . No big spoilers unless you don't know what's happened to Ling.

* * *

She had been selected personally from her clan to protect the prince – and it had been a hard-won honor, with months – _years_ – of endless training and mock battles and restless meditation poured into it.

He was well aware of her position as the top warrior of the clan, for she would not have been assigned to him otherwise, and so he regularly took advantage, tossing her a spare broadsword and demanding she spar with him even despite her protests.

"I can fight for myself, you know," he'd informed her, almost put out during one such sparring session. She'd been unable to respond, unwilling to be openly contrary but still disagreeing with him. He understood the necessity for bodyguards. He shouldn't need to fight for himself when she and Fuu were there for him.

When they left for Amestris the sparring stopped as they were swept up in the strange country's government and alchemy and corruption, and she quickly had to refocus her efforts once she'd lost her arm and had it replaced with automail.

When they searched him out, the homunculus called Greed who'd once been a prince of Xing, Ran Fan knew that she would be strong, that she would not falter.

Ling could fight for himself. Ran Fan would fight for him too.

* * *

Originally posted 11/12/2007


	8. Things Left Unsaid

**Title**: Things Left Unsaid  
**Rating**: K+  
**Character/Pairing**: Izumi/Sig  
**Summary**: Izumi speaks for both of them.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: A smile is always the best.

* * *

He doesn't have to talk very much – he never did; even as a child his mother was more than happy to take care of such things for him – and he's usually content to hear Izumi's voice instead of his own.

She can be sweet and complacent and can charm the pants off of a stranger in three minutes flat but there are also times when rudeness or stubbornness pushes her over the edge and someone finds themself faced not with the little housewife of Dublith but with the alchemist who survived a month in the Brigg's mountain range.

This is usually when they look to Sig to say something – to speak in their defense or to calm his wife or to just be the voice of reason in a chaotic situation – and _still_ Sig finds he doesn't have much to say.

Instead, he usually smiles, a small twitch of the ends of his mouth, and lets Izumi speak for both of them.

* * *

Originally posted 12/11/2007


	9. Here in the Smallest Bones

**Title**: Here in the Smallest Bones  
**Rating**: K  
**Character/Pairing**: Al/Mei  
**Summary**: Mei says goodbye to Alphonse.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: I love you in different languages. No spoilers, unless you know nothing about Xingian alchemy or Mei-Chan and how adorable she is with Alphonse.

* * *

It's when everything is said and done and they're all recovering and she's finally making plans to return home – a process that she's put off for as long as she can even despite the family waiting for her – that she comes to visit him once again and they both find that they understand each other a little bit better.

He's sitting outside in an empty garden – it's still winter, though the afternoon is dry and it looks like it will finally turn to spring soon – soaking in the cold air and reveling in every single sensation he can possibly feel. It's with relief that Al actually finds himself alone for a moment – Ed's been hovering nonstop and Winry's been relentless behind him – and so when he hears the footsteps approaching he mentally sighs and takes in the what will surely be his last sights of the brown and white garden before he's pulled inside.

It's with surprise that a field of red invades his vision instead, and standing in front of him is little Mei-Chan, holding a bouquet of red roses and beaming at him ecstatically.

"For your room," she says by way of explanation, presenting the flowers to him.

"Ah, thank you," he responds, running a fingertip over the edge of a petal and raising his eyebrows when he feels the leathery material under his skin. "You transmuted these?" Then, at the blush that could rival the intensity of the roses, he adds, "You looked at the books I gave you on Amestrian alchemy?"

Mei only nods in response, a distant look in her eyes as she gazes down at the ground and tries her best not to make eye contact. "I wanted to give you something to remember me by, before I left."

Her hands are clenching in her lap, and, frowning, Alphonse reaches down and delicately pulls the right one into his own, uncurling the fingers and ignoring the hiss that emanates from the girl next to him as he studies the digits. There are lines crisscrossing up her fingers, angry, red, and standing out in the grey day.

"You transmuted the thorns by accident, didn't you?" Al breathes. Mei nods again, and watches as Al slides off the bench and kneels on the cold, hard dirt, fumbling in his coat pocket for one of the knives she had given to him.

He starts to trace lines into the earth with it. "Let me show you what I've learned."

* * *

Originally posted 12/14/2007


	10. What's Best For You

**Title**: What's Best for You  
**Rating**: K  
**Character/Pairing**: Winry, Elric Brothers (plus a little teeny Winry/Ed)  
**Summary**: Winry receives advice.  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: Commitment is a sin unto one's self. Manga-verse

* * *

Master Garfield worries after her and she knows it. It seems odd that he, an older male, would be considered an expert in how teenage girls ought to act, and yet he's forever offering his insights and advice into parts of her life that have nothing to do with automail.

"You should go out," he says to her, constantly baffled by the way she rebuffs dates. Rush Valley is crawling with men, and more than one refuse to be seen by any other than Winry Rockbell, and the ones who can't bring themselves to defect from their own mechanic still hang around the shop. It's not that Winry doesn't like the young men who ask her out: it's that none of the young men are the right one; the one whose eyes flash at her while they bicker.

"You should go out and experience more things," he insists, amazed by her disinterest in going anywhere but to the shop and back to her home in Risembool. She's young and she has talent and she should, in theory, be able to set up shop wherever she wants and therefore open herself to a bevy of sights and sounds and experiences that most people would murder to get to. It's not that Winry isn't interested in going to new places and experiencing new things: it's that she's waiting for the day that the one who can't right now comes to her, full restored and able to go and experience those things with her.

"You work too much," he always adds, and this statement is his favorite of all. Winry is constantly working with automail: improving her designs and experimenting with new alloys and combinations and anything that she thinks might make the life of her clients easier. It's not that Winry doesn't occasionally wish to take a break: it's that she knows she must work as hard as she can while the ones who need her are still depending on her.

And Winry smiles and nods and shakes off Master Garfield, waiting for the day when she can actually take his advice.

* * *

Originally posted 12/25/2007


	11. Idle Gossip

**Title**: Idle Gossip  
**Character/Pairing**: Pinako, Hohenheim  
**Rating**: K

**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme:motionless at 9:10, freezing time when it happened. Set pre-series. I think out of all the friendships in the manga, this is one of the most intriguing and also the most ignored?

* * *

They like to sit outside and smoke when he visits, relaxing on the rocking chairs out on the front balcony, watching from above as the country sun dips below the horizon. Sometimes they stay out there until they can finally see the silver moon peeking over the edge of the roof, and it is always then that Pinako finally drags herself to bed, knowing that she'll have customers banging down the door in the morning.

Hohenheim pulls his chair close to the edge of the porch and props his feet up on the rails, stretching himself languidly between the chair and gate like a lion, the small puffs rising from his pipe constant and comforting. Pinako herself curls up in her own chair, sitting cross-legged like a wise man waiting to dispense advice, and they can stay that way for hours whether or not they're filling the time with conversation or simply amiable silence.

Tonight is one of those nights – he doesn't need to ask how she's doing since George died and how she's handling Urey going off to school, because he already knows, and she knows better than to ask what he's been up to, because she'll _never_ know – and so they sit and let the late summer winds and the creaking of the rocking chairs do the speaking for them.

It's when the sky is orange and the sun is a sliver on the horizon that Hohenheim finally breaks the quiet. "Who is that?" he asks Pinako, gesturing slightly with his pipe.

Pinako squints. There's a lithe figure walking up the path past her home, a sweater slung over one elbow and a basket of apples balanced on the other. "That's the neighbor girl, Trisha." Pinako informs him, her interest come and gone and returned to the rapidly darkening sky once again. "She's a little older than Urey. They used to run around sometimes when they were little."

"Hmm," Hohenheim answers, and falls back into silence.

Pinako considers that the end of the subject.

* * *

Originally posted 01/07/2008


	12. How Lucky I Am

**Title**: How Lucky I Am  
**Character/Pairing**: Izumi/Sig  
**Rating**: K

**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: something familiar about the way they fit together. Izumi and Sig have this amazing, relationship, full of wonderful angst and truly meaningful moments. I continue to write nothing but tender fluff for them. Go figure.

* * *

The gamekeeper running the high striker couldn't help cringing when the hulking beast of a man stepped forward to pay the fee. His boss got irritated when people actually won the games and this guy was _huge_ – there was no question that he'd be hearing the bell ringing in a couple moments.

With a sigh he handed over the tall hammer, watching as the man held it like it was the tiniest meat mallet, and then turned and handed it to the slender dark-haired woman standing beside him. She beamed at him and stepped forward, raising the hammer over her shoulders.

Too alarmed and surprised to protest – how could she even lift it, let alone score anything significant? – the gamekeeper watched as he heard that familiar thunk of the hammer hitting the pad and then, to the surprise of everybody gathered, the high clear sound of the bell ringing out into the night as the chaser struck it.

For a moment he just stared at the bell, as if he'd been hearing things, but then he realized that the woman was standing expectantly in front of him, and he finally managed to choke out, "Pick your prize, little lady."

"Sig, sweetie, which do you like?" she called over her shoulder, and the large man stepped forward and put a lazy arm around her shoulders.

"You won it Izumi," he said gently. "Get whichever you like."

"But you paid!" she argued vehemently. "It's for _you_."

They hemmed and hawed for another moment while he goggled at them – the large man eyeing the stuffed animals tacked against the board, the tiny woman with the hammer still perched over one shoulder – and then finally Sig selected a small green elephant from the pile of prizes.

He handed it over, receiving the hammer in return, trying to think of the appropriate words to say. There were none however, and the couple simply thanked him before wandering off back into the carnival, Izumi with both of her arms wrapped around one of Sig's, the little green elephant wedged underneath his other.

* * *

Originally posted 01/18/2008


	13. The Spirit of Giving

**Title**: The Spirit of Giving  
**Character/Pairing**: Rose, Winry, Ed (Onesided Rose/Ed, in a way? And sort of but not really Rose/Winry?)  
**Rating**: K+

**A/N:**Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: Sleeping with ghosts. Manga!verse, spoilers for Chapter 81. I'm not sure what the heck I was thinking when I wrote this.  


* * *

She'd never admit it, but she missed Ed. She couldn't help the way disappointment flared inside of her when she realized Al had companions that did not include his brother, and as happy as she was to see Al she was also a little bitter that the brother's paths had diverged so wildly.

It was a fantasy so close to fruition – when Ed had last left her she'd been a mess, her city and her hopes in ruins, and now that things were starting to look up again she badly regretted not getting a chance to thank him properly. As cruel as his words had seemed at the time, they had been what she's needed. She'd thought of him every night as she returned home from work, her legs weary and sore but still standing proud and accomplished.

Her legs. Her accomplishments. Because of him.

Not that he'd ever let her thank him anyway. In the tales she'd heard as a child, the damsel always threw her arms around her hero's neck and kissed him, but when she imagined doing that to Ed – not even in a romantic way, just in a grateful way – his reaction was never one of understanding but one of embarrassment, or more commonly, anger.

The closest she can come is taking care of this girl Al had brought along with him, and it was much to Rose's relief to find out that she liked Winry even more than she felt obligated to. It helped when she found out during their discussion that Winry was the one responsible for Ed's automail, was the one who enabled him to come to Lior in the first place, and for that alone Winry earned a permanent place in Rose's heart. A bath and some clothes and a little dinner are the least she can spare.

Dinner was the reason she'd gone to pull Winry away from the window in the first place; she'd gone into the sitting room and found Winry tangled up in the curtains, looking intently out the window.

"I was looking for Al," she answered in reply to the questioning look Rose threw at her. "I'm not sure… what he wants to do now. If he wants to stay with his father or go back and find Ed or…" she trailed off and mouthed for a moment and then blushed and returned her eyes out the window to the street below.

For a moment she looked so worried and… _lonely_, Rose thought, and her heart went out to Winry because she understood those feelings, and it didn't seem fair that someone who had done so much for her (even indirectly) should face that burden, but she didn't know what to say.

_The savior of our savior_. That's what she had called Winry when they had talked earlier, and a sudden swell of gratitude sprang up in Rose, reaching its crest right as Winry turned to face her.

So Rose kissed her.

It wasn't a hungry kiss, or a patient kiss, or even a particularly romantic kiss. It was just the gentle brush of her lips against Winry's before she was reeling back and blinking rapidly and trying to figure out how to explain what she'd just done.

It was also the closest she would ever come to thanking Ed.

Winry was still looking at her, the tiniest crease between her eyebrows and the faintest blush across her cheeks. Rose mouthed at her wordlessly before blurting out, "Th-thank you. For everything. For…" she swallowed hard and added, "for Ed."

Winry blinked, and pursed her lips, and then, to Rose's eternal relief, smiled. She didn't look embarrassed or angry. She looked like she understood.

Rose was so grateful she wanted to thank her again.

* * *

Originally posted 04/08/2008


	14. Only Divine Right

**Title**: Only Divine Right  
**Character/Pairing**: Pinako, Hohenheim  
**Rating**: K

**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: On usefulness and the passage of time. Set during manga Chapter 40.

* * *

It's not loneliness that causes her to pull out the old photo album. Pinako Rockbell does not get lonely, not when there are people tramping into and out of the house day in and day out for automail maintenance. No, it's boredom that leads her to tug the old bound book from the shelf and flip it open after lunch.

The book starts during her early life at Rush Valley – any pictures of her as a child were still at her mother's house when the old woman passed on herself and Pinako thinks the boxes are shoved in the attic somewhere – and the first few pages of pictures cover a relatively long period of months: one of her and the customer who received the honor of bearing her first custom automail, one of her and her master when he released her from her apprenticeship, an obligatory one of her and her mother when the woman came out for the short ceremony. It's only a couple pages in before he appears.

Her and Hohenheim, sitting around the bar, only a couple weeks after they'd met. It seems funny now, when she looks back, at the way her life had taken off once she'd met him; she'd settled nicely into her business, had a partner who swore at every opportunity he was moving to the mountains to escape her, had a few friends who thought a woman doing automail something of a novelty to have around, but it wasn't until Hohenheim came into her life that she'd really started to _live_.

She was outgoing, but he attracted people naturally. She was an automail expert, but he was an expert in practically everything else. She was growing more confident and (in the eyes of several other mechanics) prettier every day, but he… stayed the same.

That had been a fun period of her life; she made a name for herself, had done her father's name proud by making half of Rush Valley learn to fear it.

It had been inevitable that things had slowed down – she met her future husband, and whether it was rebellion or passion that had led to her following him back to the little town of Risembool, she'll never know, but she moved, and their automail prospered, and she was happy, being settled. She and Hohenheim mostly lost touch; he came to the wedding and drifted off again, keeping in touch with the occasional letter when he could track down a stamp. Urey had been born not long after, and Hohenheim had sent several gifts for the boy even as her letter with pictures of her son had been returned due to the vacancy of the address.

He reappeared after her husband's death, months after the funeral was over and the mourners all gone and the house large and seemingly empty. Urey had been at school at the time and Pinako herself hadn't been doing much besides automail and keeping the house.

And Hohenheim had come up the long walk and tapped on the door, and there he was, that old familiar face, and just like that he not only neatly reinserted himself into her life, he provided that same spark as before. Suddenly Urey was bringing a girl home and there was a wedding to plan and people to look after again – and somewhere along the line Hohenheim had been introduced to the Elric girl and Pinako had also been expecting what could be considered her _first_ grandchild. All in the span of several years. All as soon as he had returned to her.

She doesn't like to think about what had happened when he'd left again. Doesn't like to think about the guilt (for helping Hohenheim meet Trisha) and the curiosity (what had she missed?) she's felt for years, only exacerbated as Trisha grew frail and the boys took up alchemy.

It's hard not to think about it though, as she flips through the album and gazes at the pictures of Ed and Al – fully flesh and bright, handsome little boys, who look exactly like their father. Little boys who – once they get through this journey; if there's anything Pinako is sure of anymore it's that they'll be successful – will grow up to be bright and handsome young men, and then what? She has to wonder: Hohenheim had to have been a child once, and Ed and Al are just as mixed up in that alchemy as he is. Will Winry grow grey and wrinkled and hunched while Ed and Al stay young and golden? Will they inspire that same spark, changing other people's lives while they stay the same?

She wonders if she should warn Winry before dismissing the idea. The girl will shrug away the concerns the same as Pinako had; she's never turned Hohenheim away, not once in all the years she's known him, and she couldn't now because she still owes him Trisha's message.

That's when Den starts to growl and the door opens, and standing there like she herself had summoned him, is Hohenheim.

"Pinako," he says, the same perplexed tone she knows is his forte, that she knows he uses to win people over, "Where has my house gone?"

And Pinako can't help wondering what's going to happen now.

* * *

Originally posted 04/11/2008


	15. A Hundred Shades of Grey

**Title**: A Hundred Shades of Grey  
**Character/Pairing**: Roy, Riza (preshipping, of sorts?)  
**Rating**: K+  
**A/N**: Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: glorious eyes that smile and burn . Spoilers for Roy and Riza's back-story.

**

* * *

**

He mostly arranged the funeral out of guilt.

Roy didn't know much about his sensei's daughter: he'd spent the majority of his short time in the Hawkeye house holed up in the library and in the lab, reading madly through the books that seemed to multiply every time he turned the page and performing small, practical experiments that wouldn't blow up the house. He'd been up to his ears in elements and bits of chemistry that hadn't seemed important when they'd first been presented to him in school; the only time he ran into Riza, really, was during meals.

What he did know about her was that she was older than she looked – only a year or two younger than he was, though something about her eyes always made him want to pitch her age far below what it actually was – and that she was intelligent, well read and far more educated than many young ladies her age were. He knew she hadn't inherited her father's passion for alchemy, and as a result Hawkeye-sensei seemed to rely upon her for little more than keeping the house running and dissuading unwelcome visitors.

_My research – my daughter knows it all_.

Apparently he had relied on her for a little more than housekeeping.

The cemetery was chilly, but whether it was the cold or the discomfiture between them, they both had their jackets tucked tight. Despite the temperature the sun was out and casting a harsh light over them. It added a loud, realistic quality to a scene Roy couldn't help feeling should be darker, or more delicate. He didn't trust it. He didn't trust himself.

He'd originally had a speech planned; some stupid, gallant thing that was going to start out like a eulogy to her father. Then she had made her little plaintive plea, her request that he not die (_he_, someone she barely knew who'd lived in her house for little more than a year!) and he stuttered through his initial response before realizing that she had unwittingly given him the perfect opening.

_If you say you will use my power in the correct way, she'll probably present the secret to you_…

That's exactly what he said, and doing so, he felt like a vulture. It didn't matter that the words were true, that his motivation for joining the military was to protect his country, that he wanted to shoulder that burden and that he honestly intended only to do good with her father's work.

It seemed insignificant that he was baring a little part of his soul to her: the fact that he had told her at her father's own funeral made him feel like a letch in a bar trying to coax some giggling, half-drunk girl into the car with him - like she only halfway knew what she was getting into, but he needed her right then so he was going to take advantage of her anyway.

When Riza gave him that tiny, sad smile and asked if she could trust her back to his future, his heart both sank and leapt. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, wanted to demand that she tell him everything, wanted to insist that she stop and think about what she was doing.

Instead he did nothing except bow his head and try to swallow the lump forming in his throat at the sight of her eyes begging from him the promise of a happy future.

* * *

Originally posted 12/05/2008


	16. Beneficence

**Title:** Beneficence  
**Character/Pairing:** Ed, Winry (preshipping? I guess?)  
**Rating:** K  
**Summary:** Winry struggles along with Ed.  
**A/N:** Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. Manga-verse, set pre-series during Ed's automail surgeries.

* * *

To Winry's immense surprise, she gets through Ed's surgery just fine. She'd been worried because she'd never assisted in surgery on someone so close to her (Granny had been entirely responsible for Den's) and Ed's so young to be going through with it. Granny puts on a brave face for her, and once Winry schools her expression to match that of her grandmother's her focus sharpens and she finds that it turns into another routine procedure.

In her relief to be through the first terrible trial, she finds herself utterly unprepared for Ed's rehabilitation.

Bossing Ed around comes naturally, so she has no problems bullying him into ("Elementary! Routine!" she insists) exercises when he's still sore and trembling from the surgery.

When he complains, however, is when Winry has to check herself. Her gut reaction is to be contrary, to put Ed in his place, but then the engineer inside of her starts shouting and Winry remembers to start going through the check list – scar tissue buildup around the seams? Port displacement in the bone? Nerve graft coming loose? These are all common, expected side effects from the initial surgical procedure, but none of them account for Winry's discomfort.

He's not the first patient Winry's ever had to take care of, but it's the first real time Winry's had to be patient _with_ him. For the first time in their entire childhood Ed listens to her and relies on her, even if he grits his teeth every time he takes one of her suggestions and actually uses it. Winry finds that she much preferred when the two of them could butt heads as equals.

Though it gets easier as Ed gets stronger and more mobile, she reaches her epiphany the day Ed finally attempts alchemy again. She's only ever seen Ed attempt constructive things with his alchemy – toys for her and Al, presents for his mother and Granny, even assisting neighbors who need the help rebuilding a shed – and her blood runs cold when Ed claps his hands and a sword emerges where his arm should be.

_What_, she can't help thinking, _is Ed going to need a sword for?_ She knows Ed and Al are planning on leaving to restore themselves, but she has no idea what they're anticipating. _What has she helped them prepare for?_

Winry moves automatically; she sweeps the chair into her arms, hits Ed, and orders him to fix the automail. All of this happens in less than half a minute before she's storming back into the house, already calculating the structural damage Ed's going to do to his arm if he keeps this newest discovery up.

At least, she can't help thinking as she eyes her neat line of tools (her _arsenal_), it feels like her and Ed are equals again.

* * *

Originally posted 03/04/2009


	17. Intelligent Design

**Title:** Intelligent Design  
**Character/Pairing:** Winry-centric  
**Rating:** K  
**A/N:** Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: lips that would kiss form prayers to broken stone. No spoilers, as it does not take place at any definite point in the series.

* * *

Edward Elric does not believe in a god.

This is far from a controversial position; there aren't many people who believe in a god in Amestris; not with their scientists, not with their government, not with their wars.

Winry doesn't think much about a god; if there is one he's certainly expressed little to no interest in her life and so she merely returns the favor.

What she thinks about is automail; automail, and the people it's attached to. She spends her time in her lab, measuring and cutting, grinding and welding, and in the end she _creates_: something whole out of something once broken.

The process as a whole sometimes intimidates her. It's arduous, tedious, and dangerous; invading the body the way she does and forcing it to do what she wants. However necessary it may be, she sometimes fears the trust patients place in her to do right by them.

As a result Winry throws herself into the process. No two patients are the same, no limb is identical to another, no surgery is routine. For as careful and methodical as Winry is, there are always those little moments where she wonders…

Before any attachment, Winry goes over the limb one last time, combing it for any deficiencies as yet unseen, any trivial flaw that may prove disastrous. Only when she's sure that she's made this limb as close to flesh as possible does Winry present it to the patient, and she sends them off with well wishes in her mind, hopeful that they'll live well with the tools she's given them.

Ed doesn't think a god exists.

Winry sometimes wonders what Edward thinks of her.

* * *

Originally posted 03/22/2009


	18. For Safekeeping

**Title:** For Safekeeping  
**Character/Pairing:** Ed/Winry  
**Rating:** ehhhh it might be skirting a T, but I'm going with K+  
**A/N:**Written for the LJ writing comm 31_days, theme: these prizes are for living men. No spoilers, because this is pointless, shameless, ridiculous Ed/Winry fluff.

* * *

He sometimes thinks he likes her hair most of all – he likes the way it looks, spilling over her shoulders, and he likes how it feels when he runs his fingers through it, the silky strands never catching on tangles. She never cuts it or pulls it back when they're alone together, and something about it simply catches his eye time after time, prompting him to reach out towards it.

Other days it's her skin that attracts his attention – she stays fair, even in the summer, and so her skin is pale and clean, and he likes how it feels pressed against his, how it seems like every one of his nerves stirs and just needs her to feel complete again. She's smooth and unblemished, except for her hands, which make him shiver every time she runs them up his stomach, or kneads the muscles at his neck, or even just cradles his face, tracing the lines under his eyes.

In truth, it changes from day to day – he likes her smile, and the way her whole face lights up when he kisses her, and he likes her legs, wrapped warm and strong around his waist, and he likes her lips, soft and full and always, always seeking out his.

He knows Winry sometimes wishes he told her more – more about his journeys, or the struggles he's faced, or the way he feels about them – and while Ed's sympathetic he still can't bring himself to do so, even for her.

When he's with her, those memories, that journey – that person – is far away, so completely removed from himself that Ed feels brand new, as if she's reconstructed him in a whole new way. This is what he's come home for; he feels no reason to go back.

* * *

Originally posted 04/18/2009


	19. Fables On My Street

**Title:** Fables on My Street  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Havoc, Riza Roy (and the rest of the crew)  
**Summary:** They didn't just see the Flame Alchemist.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "iconoclastic". Manga-verse, taking place pre-series immediately after the Ishbal Arc, when Roy puts his crew together. 

* * *

_iconoclast:_  
-noun  
1. a breaker or destroyer of images, esp. those set up for religious veneration.

* * *

It's different for the ones who saw him in action, in Ishbal. For Riza and Havoc, they didn't just see the Flame Alchemist; they also saw Roy Mustang, who could laugh hysterically at Hughes, and who was touched by his subordinates' devotion to him; the man who had to drink after missions to forget, and the man who wanted to save every other generation from the same ordeal.

For Breda – who'd been stationed in a different district – and Falman – who's specialized skills had kept him in a safe zone – and Fury – who'd signed too late to really be sent anywhere – stories were all they really had to go on, the myths that inevitably built up around every state alchemist. It's noticeable in the way they treat him; not just with the respect their commander deserves, but in the almost reverential way that Breda follows his orders to the letter or Vato gazes at his ignition gloves or the way the Kain openly beams when Roy compliments him.

Some days in the office are worse than others, and when they occur Havoc looks across his desk and makes eye contact with Riza, who never graces him with much more than a quirked eyebrow – which is more than enough. The message is clear.

As always, Havoc pulls the tiny square box from his inner coat pocket, lets a cigarette fall out into his palm, and holds it expectantly in front of Roy.

"Hey, Chief," he asks. "You got a light?"

Roy glares at him, entirely unamused. Riza keeps a small smile on her face, staring down at her paperwork even though Havoc knows she's not missing a single thing. The other three men are staring as though they can't believe Havoc's nerve. Everyone is silent.

It usually takes a few moments for the tension to break; Roy rolls his eyes, shrugs into a glove and snaps his fingers. Havoc thanks him politely, and the entire office gets back to work, a little more relaxed than before.

* * *

Originally posted 04/27/2009


	20. Whatever We Fell Into

**Title:** Whatever We Fell Into  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Havoc/Winry, background Ed  
**Summary:** There's no chance of him putting his foot in his mouth here...  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "blond". Anime-verse, because this pairing is a little anime-verse only weakness of mine.

* * *

_blond_  
–adjective  
1.(of hair, skin, etc.) light-colored

* * *

It took him a while to figure out why it clicked with Winry. He'd always lamented his no-luck status with women, always ribbed the colonel for the easy way women seemed to take notice of him, and it seemed almost inconceivable to him that a woman like Winry, gorgeous and smart and funny and sensual, should even take notice of a no-frills schmuck like Havoc.

They'd only met up again at Roy's insistence, after the events in Central – "She won't see me, but I can't let her think she's been forgotten." – and he'd been caught entirely off guard at how simply things had fallen into place. She'd been easy to talk to, and the similarities in their background – both raised in the country, both helping out in the family business, both affected by deaths in the war – had helped smooth any bumps in their path.

He'd always admitted that part of his bad luck with women was an innate ability of his to inadvertently say the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time, and one advantage he had in his relationship with Winry was always knowing exactly which subjects to avoid.

This was how he found himself in this position: sitting tall in the middle of the Rockbell's kitchen, patiently watching Winry's serious eyes as she ran her fingers through his hair, measuring one side against the other.

"You're hair is getting long," she'd frowned at him during dinner, and without complaint he'd dragged the chair into the middle of the room and watched as she'd collected a pair of scissors and a comb. It was just one on a list of things that he didn't talk about – why she preferred his hair short, and why she always complimented on how he looked in blue and why she never ever minded kissing him after a smoke.

He didn't mind, not at all. It was refreshing to him, to be in a relationship where he wasn't always in fear of putting his foot in his mouth. She was still running her fingers through his hair, but was distracted entirely from her work when she happened to glance down and make eye contact with him, laughing at the wounded puppy dog look he was giving her. Her hands still tangled in his hair, she dipped her head and pressed a swift kiss to his lips, and when her grip tightened he smiled against her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

They'd just clicked. There wasn't much reason to talk about it.

* * *

Originally posted 04/27/2009


	21. Homecoming

**Title:** Homecoming  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Ed/Winry  
**Summary:** Separation shouldn't be an entirely new concept to him.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "quintessential". No spoilers.

* * *

___quintessential:_  
-noun  
1. the pure and concentrated essence of a substance.  
2. the most perfect embodiment of something.

* * *

She had invited him to go along; this he remembers very clearly. He doesn't remember why he turned down said invitation – _because he wanted to look after Al? Because Granny might need help around the house? Because Risembool was nice and cool and quiet and he didn't really feel like enduring the loud, chattering heat of Rush Valley?_ – but whatever the reason, he was regretting it when he was kissing her goodbye, even before her train had pulled out of the station.

The ensuing week was nothing short of torturous. It seems ridiculous to him – being separated from Winry is technically nothing new to him, but that still doesn't account for the unsettled, restless feeling inside of him, and the way Granny keeps accusing him of moping around the house.

Once she gets home he doesn't think about it anymore; he's really too busy basking in her presence, helping her unpack, distracting her from unpacking, and then helping her undress to really consider the issue –

_Because even though she's the one who left, it feels like he's the one who's come home._

* * *

Originally posted 04/27/2009


	22. Plead the Fifth

**Title:** Plead the Fifth  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Roy/Riza  
**Summary:** They always come to Riza.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "apathy". No spoilers.

* * *

_____apathy_  
-noun  
1. absence or suppression of passion, emotion, or excitement. 

* * *

She really, really hates whenever Roy catches the eye of a female recruit. Not necessarily because it bothers her to see Roy talking to or meeting up with other women; no, her real problem is that the infatuated female in question normally assumes that, as the only female staff member in Mustang's office, Riza is the easiest source of information about Roy.

They corner her whenever they get the chance, in the cafeteria or in the restrooms, and honestly, most of the time Riza feels bad for them, for the star-struck look in their eyes or the blush on their faces when they ask: "What's he like? What's it like to work for him?"

Riza usually stops, and considers the question, and wonders how to answer. She could tell them about working for Roy the student, the young man who'd toiled under her father's watch and had emerged with a few singed eyebrows and a desire to help. She could tell them about the sorrowful eyes he'd looked at her with when he'd laid his hands on her back and burned her father's secret away, or the way she'd had to refuse his stammered apology. She could tell them about Ishbal and the casual way they'd saved each other's lives on a daily basis. She could tell them about his devotion to his cause, and how entirely willing he was to lay his life down for it.

What she usually does, however, is smile politely, look down at her hands, and answer thoughtfully, "Colonel Mustang? He's usually a day or two behind on paperwork."

(It's almost worth it to see the way their faces fall, but not enough to stifle her irritation when the process begins anew.)

* * *

Originally posted 04/28/2009


	23. This Charming Man

**Title:** This Charming Man  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Fuery/Falman  
**Summary:** There was just something about the way that Fuery was always _there_.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "tenacity". No spoilers. Go easy on me, I rarely write slash.

* * *

_______tenacious_  
-adjective  
1. pertinacious, persistent, stubborn, or obstinate.

* * *

Fuery is so quiet about everything that it takes even Falman a while to realize that they're together.

Not just together, but _together_ – it was that distinction that had caused Falman's hang up. For a long time, he'd always assumed it was Fuery being Fuery – the kid was just always there, never calling attention to himself but somehow creating a space for himself all the same.

He never minds Fuery's company either. There's something comforting about having the younger man at his side, something about how easily he grants a smile or how eager he is to help everyone or how excited he is when he gets something just right – it's not long before Falman finds that he's instinctively looking for Fuery, though he never has to look long because Cain, he realizes soon enough, is usually waiting for him.

Still, he doesn't make the distinction between together and _together_ until the end of a very long, very stressful workday, when most everyone in the office was in ill temper due to paperwork and deadlines. He'd been scrutinizing the fine details of an audit when he'd heard someone clear their throat, and when he'd finally torn his eyes away from the report it was to find Fuery standing next to him, a friendly but nervous look on his face.

"Some of the guys are going down to the Rusty Cog for a drink after work. Do you want to go?" He'd rushed through the words, and Falman had frowned.

He'd looked at Fuery, and realized that the rest of the office was empty, and they had been left alone. Then he'd realized that no, they hadn't been left alone, Fuery was just there, like always. "Do you…" Falman had glanced up at him. "Do you want to go together?"

It had taken only a minute for him to see that the distinction was clear to Fuery – had maybe always been clear, in a way that Falman hadn't seen. "Yeah," he'd said slowly, "We'll catch up together."

* * *

Originally posted 05/03/2009


	24. Growing Old So Young

**Title:** Growing Old So Young  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Roy/Riza, Hughes  
**Summary:** She looks for him in Ishbal.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "war". Spoilers for the Ishbal arc, I guess.

* * *

_________war_  
-noun  
1. a state or period of armed hostility or active military operations

* * *

Deep in the Ishbal desert, Riza tries her best not to be annoyed with Hughes as he treats her like some old girlfriend of Roy's, a spurned one night stand whom Roy won't shoo away. Roy won't correct him, and Riza knows it's not her place to inform Hughes that there's a difference between being intimate and having sex, and while Roy was not Riza's first in the physical act she can honestly say that there's nobody in the world she's been more intimate with – and she's willing to guess the same of Roy.

The majority of her concern in him, she's not ashamed to admit, is interest in her investment. She wants to see that she made the right decision, sharing her father's secret with Roy. It had been a choice made by gut instinct at the time, fueled by a desire to be free of her father's secret and the burden of choosing someone worthy – and even a little bit by the way he was looking at her, so concerned and optimistic that it was enough to make her heart lurch towards what she'd long feared had been a little indulgence in teenage rebellion.

She'd never regretted it, not even a little bit; the tightness of the scar tissue was nothing compared to the weight of the tattoo on her back, but when the first stories had reached the ranks of the snipers about the alchemists and the power they'd been wielding through the districts of Ishbal she couldn't help the little pit that formed in her stomach. The thought of even him succumbing to the power of the state…

So she blows off Hughes and keeps an eye on Roy through her scope, and understands: she's not just protecting him, but her own best interests as well.

* * *

Originally posted 05/03/2009


	25. Traveling at Godspeed

**Title:** Traveling at Godspeed  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Hohenheim, Pinako  
**Summary:** Their roles shift over the years but never their friendship.  
**A/N:** Written as a birthday fic for a friend known on and LJ as nebroadwe. Manga-verse, taking place pre-series with no spoilers. Title taken from the New Pornographers song _Sing Me Spanish Techno_.

* * *

_The hourglass spills its sand  
If only to punish you_

* * *

The clock read well past midnight, and though technically Pinako's birthday had passed into the cold March night, that did nothing to temper the celebration going on in the bar. It seemed like half of Rush Valley had turned out to celebrate the twenty-third birthday of their Pantheress – somewhat to the chagrin of Van Hohenheim, who'd spent the better part of the year traveling and hadn't realized just how extensive Pinako's network of friends had become.

Pinako had clearly been thrilled to see him – he knew, because she'd registered approval instead of disappointment when he'd caught the wrench she'd tossed in greeting – which was the single redeeming factor in a night that found him crammed into the biggest high-backed wooden booth that the bar had to offer. It wasn't like their other nights out; those had taken place when Pinako was first settling into the city and testing her ability to make both friends and business contacts, when she was still convincing people that she was more than a novelty, as a female engineer.

This was loud, and raucous, and though Pinako had declared she wasn't sharing Hohenheim's birthday gift with anyone but Hohenheim himself – because tobacco that fine was rare, and expensive, and she wasn't letting all go to waste, damnit – he couldn't shake that niggling feeling he always got when he spent too much time with people, especially young people.

_Stranger. Outsider. Sore Thumb._

Pinako had no patience for these feelings, and in a way he was grateful for that. People were attracted to Hohenheim, and as much as he wanted to chalk it up to his quiet, genial nature, he knew the truth: he was a puzzle, one that was at first intriguing and later off-putting. At first they wanted to solve him – and once they saw the way he stood separate from time, they wanted to push him away.

Pinako was different. At some point, he'd earned her trust, and as a result she'd never once questioned why they'd celebrated her last three birthdays together without once acknowledging his.

Despite all of this – her unerring trust in him, her delight that he'd made it back to Rush Valley for her birthday, the way she welcomed him among a group of young vibrant people – he couldn't help noticing: the way Pinako's eyes traveled away from him constantly, never once losing the thread of conversation, always seeking out one person and reassuring herself of his presence before returning her attention fully. They always went to the same place – the same person, actually: the Rockbell boy, sitting in the corner opposite of them.

He'd lost count of the number of rounds they'd gone through when he finally made the connection; putting his glass down on the table, he interrupted Pinako's outlandish tale of a fitting gone awry.

"You like him, don't you?" He sounded perplexed, and when she turned her head to stare at him the look on her face mirrored his own.

After a moment the questioning look cracked into a lopsided grin. "I thought you were supposed to be smart."

"I always meant that relatively," Hohenheim muttered into his glass of ale. Part of him felt embarrassed for not figuring it out sooner; another part of him, however, remembered the countless unions he'd seen formed between people, and how eventually they all ran together – and how they had all ended in separation, one way or another.

Still… it seemed so important to Pinako. He glanced across the table once again, and this time, the young man in question was looking back at him. His eyes softened when they flickered towards Pinako for all of half of a second, and then he was glaring back at Hohenheim again, a definite crease between his eyebrows, and a scowl that was obvious even with his glass hovering in front of it.

There was that awkwardness again. Hohenheim looked down into his glass, then elbowed Pinako. "I don't think he likes me very much."

"You're fine." Pinako waved in a vague way, nearly knocking over the whole row of glasses stacked in front of her.

He shifted, uncomfortable in his seat. "He's frowning at me," Hohenheim insisted. He didn't particularly care for whatever this boy thought, but it was clear that Pinako did. Better to head off any trouble. "Maybe I should move."

"No," Pinako insisted. "You're fine." Hohenheim grimaced, and she couldn't help chuckling at his discomfort. "It's just," she finally explained, sounded apologetic, "he thinks you're my father."

* * *

Years later, Pinako beamed as she paced the floor, cradling a precious burden as she walked through the sunbeam cast onto the floorboards by the open curtains. The snow made everything seem brighter than it actually was, or maybe it was the occasion they were celebrating. Hohenheim didn't think much about it as he smoked his pipe almost lazily, heartened by the smile on Pinako's face even as the coils of nervousness that he'd been feeling for the last few months tightened in his belly.

_Cold feet_, he reassured himself, just like Trisha had. _Entirely normal_.

Pinako finally tore her eyes away from the babe and turned the full force of her grin onto Hohenheim. "You old dog." her tone was gruff, and would have been half-convincing if not for the tears of joy brimming in her eyes. "You've made me a grandmother."

* * *

Originally posted 05/11/2009


	26. Protocol Demands

**Title:** Protocol Demands  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Roy, Ling, Ed  
**Summary:** If he had to be honest with himself, he was mostly chasing rumors at this point.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "xenium". This is... this is a story that threatened to spiral completely out of my control, and could almost be classified as crack. It's not slash, not really even remotely, but there may be veiled hints towards Ling/Ed and maybe possibly Roy/Ed. (...I can't believe I typed that. It's vague okay! Give it a chance! I think its really only there if you want it?). Takes place in a post series world in which Roy actually becomes Fuher and Ling actually becomes emperor.

* * *

___xenium_  
-noun  
A present given to a guest or stranger, or to a foreign ambassador.

* * *

The Xingian capital was boiling hot. At times it was almost enough to send him back to Ishbal, but then – no, then the emperor would say something and Roy would be snapped back into place, forced to remind himself that he wasn't back in Ishbal, he was in Xing, and he was there as a guest of honor, the Fuhrer of Amestris himself making a gesture of peace to a fellow nation.

He was hot, though, and he was bored, and he was rapidly losing patience with Emperor Ling and his hovering alchemists – an entirely necessary evil, to keep the monster inside of him under control. Ling was teasing him, and Roy knew it. They both knew the reason Roy was there – and they both knew that the gesture of peace that everyone was talking about was merely a bonus in this situation.

If he were to be honest with himself, he was mostly chasing rumors at this point. "Emperor Ling," he ventured, staring down into his cup of tea, and wishing he could ask for sweetener for it. "I've heard that you've had a small influx of Amestrian alchemists who are curious about your own brand of alchemy. I hope they haven't given you or your people too much trouble." If what he'd heard was true, then there was no way it could have been avoided.

Ling, however, just kept smiling at him. "I've embraced your people as my own," he said cheerfully. "It's been no trouble at all, though I sometimes have to wonder not only what they're seeking here but what they've left in Amestris."

Which was exactly what Roy wanted to know as well. The disappearance of the People's Alchemist was one of Central's most enduring wartime mysteries. There'd been reports of sightings everywhere from Briggs to Dublith; this one, however, was the first one Roy had actually given any weight to.

So while there was exactly one specific alchemist Roy wanted to ask Ling about – one specific person who'd driven Roy all these miles, through all these handshakes and polite small talk and unfunny banter – he couldn't do it in front of everybody. The alchemists never left, but Roy had his own entourage on top of the Xingian princes and princesses and advisors who'd all settled in to dine with them. It was too sensitive a subject.

That didn't change the fact that Ling knew they were both talking about the same person. "Have no worries, Fuhrer Mustang. Your alchemists have been a source of great enjoyment for me. They amuse me more than anything."

Roy gritted his teeth, wondered the most polite response to make, though he was saved from having to do so when the emperor abruptly stood up and bowed. "You've made a long journey, Fuhrer Mustang. We should retire now."

He was exhausted, it could not be denied. Roy sighed, stood up, and almost missed entirely when Ling added, "I didn't want to draw the evening out any longer, Fuhrer, but do not think I've forgotten the traditional gift between nations."

His thoughts were chasing each other around in his head as a couple of Ling's guards led him to his room, members of his party peeling away as they were showed to their own rooms. When it was only him, the guards both nodded and bowed – Roy waved them away wearily – and left him alone to enter the room.

The emperor's palace was a thing of beauty, and it was clear that much care and thought had gone into designing the rooms. There was a little sitting room in the front, where Roy threw down his jacket, and he continued on into the bedroom only to find:

Edward Elric, sitting up in bed with a writing desk on his lap, working so feverishly that he hadn't even looked up when someone had entered the room.

All Roy could do was gape before finally calling in a low, hoarse voice: "Ed?"

His head snapped up, those golden eyes widened, and from the look of blooming panic on his face Roy knew that he had no plan of escape.

Ed bolted, and as Roy lunged after him he wondered where Ling had developed his definition of a traditional gift.

* * *

Originally posted 04/27/2009


	27. Women's Work

**Title:** Women's Work  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Riza, Rebecca  
**Summary:** They do their work only by night.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "sewing". Set in Ishbal, no spoilers.

* * *

_____sew_  
-verb  
1. to enclose or secure with stitches

* * *

She cradled the package between her elbow and chest as she fumbled in the dark for the zipper. The skies of Ishbal could give some fantastic light at night, but it was a new moon and it seemed to Rebecca as though she were swimming through inky blackness. When she finally managed to pull open the tent, it was to find Riza bent over her lap, working by the light of two lanterns.

Rebecca knew she was expected; Riza did not even look up at her. Anyone else and Riza could have a bullet between their eyes while they were still groping for the tent's flap.

She gave Rebecca a shallow grin, a needle held in place between her pursed lips, and gestured to the small box at her side. Rebecca smiled in return and opened the package, shaking out its contents and holding them up to her waist.

Military fatigues, fresh from Central.

Central's military had no problems treating their men and their women as one and the same. This was a double edged sword – there weren't many ill conceived comments within earshot (which Riza could shoot down with one direct glare; Rebecca with a retort of her own) but there also weren't many considerations made for the military's women. Considerations such as accommodations, bathrooms, or –

"Too long, as usual." Rebecca sighed, reaching down and cuffing the pants.

Riza grimaced and tilted her head, the invitation obvious. Rebecca plopped down next to her, fumbling for the needles and floss. They'd done this before, and they'd do it again, by silent agreement: the women's work, done only by night.

In the morning they were soldiers again, one and the same as the men next to them.

* * *

Originally posted 05/12/2009


	28. Rite of Passage

**Title:** Rite of Passage  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Al/Paninya  
**Summary:** His feelings are not as great a surprise as hers.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "youth". No spoilers, set post-series.

* * *

_______youth_  
-noun  
1. the condition of being young.  
2. the appearance, freshness, vigor, spirit, etc., characteristic of one who is young. 

* * *

She's not surprised to learn of Al's feelings as much as she's surprised to realize her own. After all, an Elric in love is not the most subtle creature on the planet, and while Alphonse doesn't subscribe to Edward's theory of romance (bickering, sulking, and the occasional compliment) it's hard to miss the way his eyes follow her through the room, or how eager he always appears in conversations, or how generously he gifts his smiles.

They're all little things that Paninya could once have chalked up to Al simply not having remastered his human body, his general enthusiasm for life; no, each subsequent trip to Rush Valley, each conversation with Al while Ed and Winry are off trying not to kill each other, each moment spent together just cements it in her mind. Al likes her, and she has no idea what to do about it.

Most of her fear is the realization that she likes him back – he's funny, and earnest, and his calming influence does not extend just to his brother and adopted sister. Something about him makes her feel safe, which is almost terrifying to her. There are very few people she's ever cared about in her entire life, and even fewer she'd grudgingly admit to loving. It all seems too new, too soon, out of nowhere.

Still, it can't be ignored and it's finally Garfield and not Winry who breaks the silence and finally asks her about it. "I think Alphonse has a crush on you," he remarks one afternoon, and Paninya knows he's not letting this one go because he's said it in the same tone he usually reserves for teasing Winry.

Paninya's face flushes, her eyes dropping down determinedly to focus on the piece of automail she's idly been playing with. "He's a kid," she finally mumbles, when the force of Master Garfield's stare is practically burning.

Garfield laughs. "Oh Paninya!" There's a scoffing tone to his voice. "So are you."

* * *

Originally posted 05/25/2009


	29. Hope Under a Blue Sky

**Title:** Hope Under a Blue Sky  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Ed, Al  
**Summary:** This is an old game.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "planned". Written with the manga verse in mind, though I think it could take place pretty much anytime.

* * *

_________plan_  
-noun  
1. a scheme or method of acting, doing, proceeding, making, etc., developed in advance

* * *

"Brother," Al whispers urgently one morning, well before it's considered polite to wake people up but still late enough that Ed will get up anyway. "What are we going to do when we get our bodies back?"

This is an old game. They've discussed a million and one things that they're going to do once they're restored. Some nights it's more comforting to Ed than an old blanket, other nights it causes the burden on their shoulders to weigh even heavier. Ed always indulges Al though, and this morning he's in the right frame of mind, still hazy from sleep but awake enough, that their goal seems like a very real and near possibility. Someday, not one day.

He smiles dreamily into the dark. "We're gonna go home, and we're gonna show Winry and Granny."

"And then?"

"And then Winry's going to make you apple pie." Two, Ed thinks in his mind, practically smelling the dessert, so that they can each have one.

"And then?"

"Hm?" He's still thinking about Winry and the pie. His mind is blank. "And then what?"

"Then what do you want to do?" Al asked anxiously.

Ed is breaking the rules of the game and he knows it. Usually his answer here goes somewhere along the lines of "Torch every single piece of paperwork Mustang's pushed at me" or "Eat our way through Sensei's butcher shop" or "Visit some other country." Fun stuff, never entirely realistic (the paperwork would get him in trouble with Hawkeye), but always delightful to imagine. Instead, he cranes his head, catching a glimpse of Al gleaming dully in the pre-dawn rays, and asks curiously, "Well what do you want to do?"

"I think," Al says carefully, as if he's measuring out each word for proper weight. Ed forces himself awake a little more, sensing the importance behind his words. "I think I want to go back to school. There are a couple universities in Central. I can't live off your pay from the state for the rest of our lives."

Ed doesn't know which words are appropriate. He's never heard Al talk about school before; as children it was something that was simply part of the routine, until alchemy - and their mission to restore their mother - had blocked it out. "And then what?" he finally asks.

"And then," Al informs him, his tone still carrying that sense of importance, "I think I can get Winry to bake me a cake."

* * *

Originally posted 05/26/2009


	30. Fencing Time

**Title:** Fencing Time  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Havoc/Falman  
**Summary:** He's always known he's more laid back than Falman, but this is almost ridiculous.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "urgency".

* * *

___________urgency_  
-noun  
1. The quality or condition of being urgent  
2. Pressing importance

* * *

He's not sure why, but there's always a sense of urgency in the way Vato kisses him. Havoc can sense it no matter their circumstances – no matter whose apartment, no matter how tightly the curtains are drawn, no matter how much work they may or may not have on their plates, there's always that feeling of desperation driving Falman.

It's almost unnerving to Havoc, as it goes against his sensibilities – maybe it's due to the number of failed relationships he's experienced before, but he's always preferred to take his time, measuring each step to prevent a misstep, and enjoying the experience as long as it lasts. He's always known he is more laid back than Falman, but this is almost ridiculous.

Then one night he finally has to ask. They're in his apartment, and they've made it to the bed, still dressed but entirely disheveled. The night is young, and they have nowhere to be in the morning, and still Vato is rushing things, refusing to relax and simply appreciate what they have right _now_.

Jean pulls away, cupping Vato's face and gently forcing him to make eye contact. "What's your hurry?" he asks. "We've got all the time in the world."

Falman blinks at him, and then Jean knows. So much of their relationship has relied upon what's _not_ said but simply understood between them, and suddenly Jean sees: the weight of the war, and their responsibilities, his faith in the future but his desire for the present. The fear of what tomorrow may or may not bring, especially in their line of work.

"Do we?" Vato asks, and Havoc has no response.

* * *

Originally posted 05/26/2009


	31. By the Heart

**Title_:_ **By the Heart  
**Rating:** K+  
**Characters:** Al, Madam Christmas, background mention of Roy  
**Summary:** The woman gave him a smirk he realized he recognized.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "godchild". Set post series, spoilers for… you know, Madam Christmas' general role.

* * *

_____________godchild_  
-noun  
1. a child for whom a godparent serves as sponsor

* * *

They'd met at the end of a long, hard-fought battle. Al was staring at the white walls of the hospital, already cleared to go home and waiting patiently for his brother when she'd come stalking in, moving purposefully enough that people were automatically clearing the way for her, no one daring to ask if she was even supposed to be there.

She'd stopped in front of Alphonse, stared at the two doorways in front of her, and then made eye contact with the newly restored boy. Al had felt a shiver go down his spine; there were many things he could claim expertise in, including alchemy, survival, and insomnia, but chief among them was an ability to recognize a female who could destroy him, no matter what shape she might take. There was Riza and her well armed serenity, Granny, who only had to bang her pipe on the table to get him skittering to do whatever she'd requested, Winry, who could create a weapon out of anything within arms reach, and Izumi, who was his _sensei_, which really explained everything as far as he was concerned.

This woman, however, stood in front of Al, with her gaudy fur coat and her painted-on makeup, and gave him a smirk he realized he recognized: it was the one that informed whoever was on the receiving end, _yeah, I probably own you_.

She raised an eyebrow, and pointed towards a door. "Did he finally agree to see a doctor then?"

Technically she was pointing towards Ed's room, though Al's mounting suspicion was pretty sure she meant Roy. "Yes?"

"Good." Entirely satisfied, she settled her girth into the chair next to Alphonse. "I suspect Elizabeth had a hand in that."

Al blinked. Who was Elizabeth?

"I specialize in girls, you know," she informed Al, giving him an appraising gaze over her shoulder. "But they gave me that boy, and my hand to the heavens, he's been a blessing from the beginning."

"But," she added conspiratorially when a doctor exited Roy's room, looking particularly aggrieved, "sometimes I think I did too good a job on him."

* * *

Originally posted 05/28/2009


	32. Flux

**Title_:_ **Flux  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Winry-centric, Ed/Winry  
**Summary:** Her bedroom was the best place in the house to watch for people approaching.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "moent". Manga-verse, spoilers around chapter 84.

* * *

_moment_  
-noun  
1. an indefinitely short period of time

* * *

Ed was right – her bedroom was the best place in the house to watch for people approaching. Winry spent the majority of her time in the basement, helping Granny build some automail when she could and being careful not to attract any attention, ever mindful of the fact that she was still technically a hostage, even if she suspected that the military was too busy with this whole Promised Day stuff to worry about some missing girl, hostage or no.

The trains ran on schedule though, and Winry liked to slip upstairs around the arrival times- if she could, if there wasn't a customer or a neighbor hanging around – and gaze out the window, never sure if she was scaring herself or reassuring herself.

Whatever it was, it became routine, quickly. It helped her count hours that would otherwise have been spent hidden away in a windowless basement and kept her from dwelling on those memories of the last time she saw Ed – Ed, and the way he made her heart beat wildly, even when he was frowning at her. She didn't like to think about what it meant for her if Ed didn't come back, and wouldn't let herself think about what could happen if he did.

There was comfort in routine, until the day that Winry tiptoed up the steps after the 10:15 train had arrived. She could count the number of steps between the door and the window, and when she positioned herself against the wall and tugged back the curtain, everything changed, instantly, in a single moment:

There were men dressed in blue coming up to the house.

* * *

Originally posted 05/28/2009


	33. The Boy Wonders

**Title_:_ **The Boy Wonders  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Alex Louis Armstrong  
**Summary:** The train ride out to Ishbal  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "Zorro". Spoilers for Ishbal.

* * *

___Zorro_  
-noun  
1. a fictional character created by pulp writer Johnston McCulley

* * *

On the train ride out to Ishbal, Major Alex Louis Armstrong sits as patiently as he can manage and stares out the window, wishing desperately he'd thought to bring a magazine. Oh, sure, there are letters in his bag – one from his father, no doubt urging him to live up to the family name, and one from his mother, urging him to be careful as he lives up to the family name, and several others from his sisters and tutors – and while those could pass some time what he's really craving is the box of magazines hiding in a crate under his bed: the pulp magazines, one of his few real indulgences as a child.

Alex had torn through the stories voraciously, but there'd always been one character that had really captured his interest: the man in black, always working to protect the best interests of those born without the same privileges as he.

Tearing through the desert, Alex couldn't help sitting up a little straighter, a little prouder. The weight of his name sits easily on his shoulders, and there's no question in his mind that he's doing the right thing, embracing his call to duty.

He feels a little bit like his great hero, working to protect the best interests of those who need him.

* * *

**A/N:** While Zorro himself didn't debut until 1919, the magazine that ran it _All-Story Weekly_, originally started running in 1882 and is widely considered the first American pulp magazine. Thus, Alex Louis' hero.

Originally posted 05/31/2009


	34. A Thin Line

**Title_:_ **A Thin Line  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Mustang's Crew  
**Summary:** The office, after Hughes.  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "laughter". Spoilers chapter 15, episode 25.

* * *

_____laughter_  
-noun  
1. an inner quality, mood, disposition, etc., suggestive of laughter

* * *

The week after Hughes' funeral, the office takes an on an awkward, somber atmosphere. Nobody knows what to say, and once they all realize that Roy prefers that they say nothing, nobody knows how to act either. Normally their compass in such situations is Riza, who is dealing with her own grief, and so they all decide that it's safest to sit quietly and wait.

They've never been the most professional office in Central; despite Riza's best efforts, Roy will do anything he can to get out of paperwork, and Havoc and the others can't help if they only try to follow in their esteemed leader's example. Too many days are filled with excuses for cigarette breaks, lunch-time chess games that extend all through the afternoon, begging out early for dates, and the mandatory smirks and chuckles that give away everyone's true intentions.

Hughes' death has upset all of that, and they are helpless to invoke his memory and return to some sense of normalcy. They work with tired, unintended efficiency until the day Riza, reviewing some paperwork from the previous day, looks up at Roy with an unamused look on her face. "Sir," she says in a pointed, weary tone, "I've told you before not to sign other colonels 'names to these forms."

Roy blinks at her blankly for a minute, and then pulls a face: that little kid pout that's his first line of defense only because it never _ever_ works on Riza. "But then I don't have to deal with the follow up!" he explains, his tone only a few shades away from whining.

Riza just shakes her head at him, and leaves the room to find fresh copies of the forms Roy has ruined. As soon as she leaves, Breda, staring determinedly down at his own paperwork, snickers.

Everyone holds their breaths, and turns their gaze towards their commander, who thankfully leans back in his chair, runs a hand over his face, and grins.

* * *

Originally posted 05/31/2009


	35. Playing Dirty

**Title_:_ **Playing Dirty  
**Rating:** K  
**Characters:** Ed/Winry  
**Summary:** "But it's Rush _Valley_."  
**A/N:** Written for the alphabet challenge I did on my LJ, where I was given a prompt and a pairing for every letter of the alphabet. My prompt for this drabble was "deliquesce". Post-series happily-ever-after fluff, with no spoilers.

* * *

_______deliquesce_  
-verb  
1. to melt away

* * *

He was already in bed by the time she got out of the bathroom, a trail of steam following her into the room as she wrung out and braided back her hair before crawling into bed with him.

"'Night," Ed mumbled, reaching out for her, surprised when she stiffened and propped herself up on one elbow.

"Garfield called while you were in the shower," she told him, pitching her voice low even though nobody else was in the room with them. "I'm going to Rush Valley next weekend."

"Rush _Valley_?" he couldn't help the whine in his voice. He had… _issues_, with Rush Valley. "But I just got back from Central."

"I know," she soothed, scooting closer to him. "Come with me?"

"But it's Rush Valley," Ed pointed out. He didn't have to explain. Winry knew every single one of his complaints about Rush Valley.

"I know," she repeated. Then, again, more coaxingly, "Come with me?"

She moved even closer. He could feel her knees brushing his thigh, one hand tentatively finding his shoulder in the dark. Not even those little points of contact could distract him from the crushing disappointment of possibly being dragged to Rush Valley again.

"But –"

That was as far as he got before he was overwhelmed; she leaned over him, and there was the scent of her shampoo and soft lips at the corner of his mouth, just barely missing their mark. "Come with me?" she whispered against him.

Ed sighed and laid back, one arm reaching out and slipping around her waist. "Okay."

* * *

Originally posted 06/11/2009


End file.
